


Fix On You

by Versevere



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ are all housemates, Biting, Blow Jobs, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Language, Power Outage, lipstick kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Versevere/pseuds/Versevere
Summary: After a night of drinking, lipstick, and an accidental kiss, Jongho finds himself unable to stop thinking about Mingi.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Song Mingi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 180





	Fix On You

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Jongho Love Fest!
> 
> I admit before I even signed up for this fest, I was in the middle of a huge writing block and hadn't even been able to THINK about writing anything, but I looked over the prompts anyway and absolutely fell in love with this one. So, thank you, dear prompter, as well as the admins for this fest, for giving me the inspiration to write and finish a piece <3
> 
> P.S. The tags are there, but I promise this fic isn't as intense as they may imply

It’s hard to see anything through a necktie when it’s used as a blindfold, but that’s really the point of a blindfold. Jongho finds himself trying to find a way around it, lifting his chin to try to peek through the small gap where the tie isn’t pressed against his skin. He thinks he can see the dark locks of Yunho’s hair, so he starts calculating. If Yumho’s hair is at that level, then his lips would be… he lowers his hand to what he thinks is twelve centimeters, then forward, slowly, until the lipstick he is gripping makes contact with Yunho’s skin. Bingo. Carefully, he sweeps the lipstick back and forth. 

A phone alarm goes off and Jongho whips the necktie off, ready to meet his success but instead seeing the dark red lipstick smeared on Yunho’s chin, a little to the left. Yunho is pursing his lips, holding in his laughter, and Jongho is groveling in defeat. He had barely underestimated how far down his hand went.

Hongjoong snorts, lipstick fully but unevenly coated on his lips, before cracking up. Parts of his front teeth are stained red, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or care, really. He does a little shimmy as a congratulation on his win.

“That makes the Seong-Joong team the winner!”

Seonghwa smirks with his perfectly-lined sultry red lips as he lines up six shot glasses on the coffee table. He’s concentrated like he’s about to make the best drip-coffee in the world, leaning over the cups, eye level to the soju bottle, but he’s pouring so sloppily that half of the spirit ends up splashing onto the table. 

“Cheers!” Seonghwa says quite cheerfully, raising the empty bottle like a trophy as he and Hongjoong watch the others take their punishment shot.

The soju goes down like it’s water. 

Jongho gives into the giggling, nudging Yunho to make room on the couch for him to plop down on his side, head landing hard on Yunho’s lap. It makes him dizzy for a second, but by the time he exhales a hot boozy breath, everything seems to stand still again. 

Well, still enough.

The TV is on but all Jongho can register are changing colors and movement. He isn’t trying to focus on anything in particular. The room seems quieter, but he thinks that’s in part due to his lowered senses. He can tell that Yunho is making commentary on the TV program, but it sounds like his voice is passing through a wall before it reaches Jongho’s ears. He can’t be bothered to focus on what he’s saying, but they’re all probably trivial comments, anyway. When Yunho laughs, Jongho can feel vibrations thunder inside his chest, and he finds himself smiling along, still not paying enough attention to know what’s so funny. With Yunho running his hand through Jongho’s hair, Jongho thinks he can fall asleep at any moment. 

“Hey, who ate the last slice of pizza? I claimed it!” Wooyoung screeches.

Ah, a Wooyoung tantrum. A perfect way to lull him to sleep. He sits upright, slowly this time, and finds an abandoned pair of chopsticks to nab some fried chicken before someone eats all of that, too. Yunho gets up to refill his drink.

“We still have cake, go eat that,” Yeosang offers as he chews on his pizza crust, lipstick on his cheek. He’s chosen to sit on a cheap plastic stool when there was an almost entirely unoccupied couch available. Not that Jongho minds the extra space.

Wooyoung drops to his knees, hands covering his face, shaking his head dramatically. “My pizza… My pizza! My! Pizza!”

Hongjoong stands, hoisting up his phone for all to see. He proudly pats his chest, eyes closed and a smile wide. “Don’t worry, everyone. I, Hongjoong, the winner of this contest, just ordered us more pizza and chicken. No need to thank me,” he waves modest hands, dropping his phone in the process. It hits the rug with a dull thud, but Hongjoong pays it no mind. “It’ll get here in,” he takes a dramatic pause, bringing his wrist up to look at the time only he’s not wearing a watch, “forty-five minutes!”

“Forty-five minutes?” Wooyoung asks as if he’s about to cry. San is patting his shoulder, offering a plate of cake for comfort, which Wooyoung starts shoveling into his mouth.

It looks good. Jongho debates whether he should expend energy to get up to grab himself a slice, but before he makes a decision, a plate of it is presented in front of him. He smiles.

“You know me too well, Mingi.”

Mingi sits on the couch cross-legged toward Jongho and feeds him a piece. Jongho raises a thumb as thanks, nodding in approval of the taste. Strawberry fresh cream cake has always been his favorite. He opens his mouth again, and Mingi alternates taking a bite and feeding Jongho one. 

When the plate is gone, Jongho snuggles up on Mingi’s shoulder and takes a deep breath. There’s the obvious smell of soju, but the hint of Mingi’s cologne warms up to him and it’s relaxing. They watch the program on TV while the others start to doze off one by one, starting with Yunho, who yawns loudly and throws his arms up in a big stretch as if announcing that he is tapping out.

Jongho looks up to see Mingi’s eyes. They’re awake and focused on the television, and Jongho thinks he can see moving figures reflected in them. He looks down at Mingi’s neck, where lipstick is crudely drawn across his Adam's apple. He doesn’t understand how Wooyoung missed the mark so badly. That is until he glances over to where Wooyoung pours himself a ghost shot from an empty bottle and takes it, not seeming to realize that his glass is empty. San is still hovering him, taking an empty shot with him, but San seems to be much more sober. Yeosang hands San a glass of water, and San pours some of it into Wooyoung’s shot glass. Wooyoung takes it immediately.

Mingi laughs softly, turning Jongho’s attention to him, and they look at each other for a moment. 

Jongho thinks that he had become too good of friends with Mingi because he’s seen his face so often that he had forgotten what he really looked like. There’s usually a buffer of some sort, where there is his image of Mingi, and Mingi’s actual appearance because he finds himself glazing over Mingi’s face without taking in all the details all the time. He realizes this as he takes in those details now, and he tries to reprogram his brain to engrave these details into memory, but he becomes mesmerized a little. It’s so distracting that he doesn’t catch the words making their way out of his mouth until they’re out in the open.

“You’re really pretty.”

Mingi leans his head back against the couch, and his wavy fringe falls around his face perfectly. The light reflects warmly in his eyes, and his lips settle into a pout, the one he naturally does all the time. They’re in an ever so slight perpetual pucker daring Jongho to take a bite. Like Mingi’s personality, they’re magnetic, and they’re drawing him closer. He catches Mingi closing his eyes and tilting his head toward him. It’s a green light.

Mingi’s lips are soft. They’re soft and they’re warm and it’s comforting. Jongho leans in, his mind finally focusing on his sense of touch. Mingi’s hands are big and warm as they pull Jongho in by the neck. His lap is firm as Jongho finds himself on it, and Jongho’s hands go for Mingi’s hair. He combs through once, and then on the second round, he grips. Mingi lets out the smallest squeak, and Jongho flutters his eyes open. He looks down at Mingi whose lower lip is now stained with a tint of red. His cheeks are flushed in a similar shade and his eyes are the tiniest bit watery. Jongho wants to kiss him again.

Wait, why can’t he? There’s nothing wrong with that. Mingi deserves to be kissed.

He leans in.

A loud melody erupts in the dorm and suddenly, everyone is awake. It’s the delivery man ringing their doorbell. Like magic melting away at the stroke of midnight, the alcohol seems to disappear entirely from Jongho’s system.

Wooyoung runs to get the door and Jongho runs to his room.

~~

A hangover is like waking up groggy after getting two hours of sleep, except worse because the feeling of grossness lingers on the inside, the outside, and everywhere in between. Jongho’s guts seem to hate him, but he’s feeling a little self-hate, himself. Plus, he’s too sluggish at the moment to do anything about it. Instead, he does some self-reflection, regretting it almost instantly. He would think that when he’s drunk, he would be shedding his shell and letting out his most unrefined and truest self. Jongho thinks that behind his coarse skin and salty speech, he can be really mellow. He has a soft spot for all of his friends and especially for his housemates. That much he was aware of, and one would think that a little soju would expose that side of him. In a way, it did, but no matter how giddy he had been, how could his drunken self ever even think to kiss… 

He throws his covers over his head, but unfortunately, hiding his face from the world is an entirely ineffective strategy of erasing his memory. Turning over himself repeatedly doesn’t seem to do the trick, either. He’s left grumbling to himself and repeatedly calling himself an idiot. Which he is.

He sighs as he replays the events from last night in his head, trying to pinpoint the tipping point from when he was in his right mind, and to when he stumbled over his own clumsy feet to the plains of insanity. Weird. He remembers almost everything, from the first time he raised his glass of beer to when he dived into bed with a racing heart. No matter how much he rewinds and scrubs the moving images, it's unclear when he lost himself.

Once more, he calls forth the memory of Mingi relaxed on the couch, head just thrown back and looking utterly irresistible. Just what was it about Mingi last night that drove Jongho off the edge? His expression was inviting, sure, with the way he pouted and with the way his brows were slightly raised. And something about the way the lipstick was smeared on his neck was, for lack of a more elegant way to put it, sexy. Jongho touches his lips for a moment but it does no justice in simulating the memory, but it makes his blood rush anyway.

A soft sharp beeping noise comes from the kitchen when someone turns on the coffee machine, and being unable to ignore the soft headache nagging at him for some hydration, Jongho decides that he’ll do his body one favor and drink something non-alcoholic. He could sleep it off, but his mind is way too active for that. A beverage and a distraction would do. He wraps himself in his blanket as he gets out of bed. His feet are cold and they tread the wooden floor, but what can he do?

The living room is cleaner than Jongho expected it to be. The dishes are done, all surfaces are wiped down, and the trash has been taken out. Hongjoong is at the dining table drinking coffee, probably as a reward for working hard to clean everything up. Jongho plops down on the seat next to him. Hongjoong smiles warmly, patting Jongho gently on the head.

“Did you get some good sleep?”

The eyebags by themselves should have been a dead giveaway, but Hongjoong probably thought it would be polite to ask. 

“Yeah, I got a good four hours. Four is a nice number, you know. It represents death, just like how I’m feeling right now.”

Other people might get offended by the response, but Hongjoong, besides being the warm kind of guy that Jongho can only imagine himself to be, is well accustomed to Jongho’s attempts at small talk. Instead of getting defensive, he softens in sympathy.

“Want some coffee?” 

Jongho shakes his head. He's in a state of disarray. He needs the comforting hug of a hot sweet drink. Hongjoong reads him easily.

“Hot cocoa?”

After a nod of approval, Hongjoong promptly gets to work, dropping off his empty mug in the sink along the way. Jongho lays his head on the table enjoying the silence of his surroundings. It’s a nice contrast to the screams lurking in the deepest corner of his thoughts. He wants to let the silence devour him, but he knows that Hongjoong will wait for him to open up, rather than try to pry. Instead of holding Jongho’s hand, he will offer his own so that Jongho has the option to take it. Sometimes, Jongho just doesn’t have the heart to put the burden of his trivial weight onto such a tiny hand, but this time, he needs to let it out. If he doesn’t get something out now, he might not ever get the chance to.

“Hongjoong," he starts, defeatedly.

Hongjoong scavenges for the hot cocoa mix in the cupboard, but he is focused on Jongho. “Yeah?”

Jongho lets the silence simmer for a few seconds longer, trying to come up with an acceptable way to ease into the topic. He doesn’t want to start off too strong.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much of an idiot do you think I am?”

“That depends on why you’re asking," Hongjoong answers without missing a beat. It almost burns that he didn’t immediately answer ‘one.’

Jongho throws a blanket hood over his head, groaning. He feels a mild touch of the afterlife having the time of its life in his stomach as he recalls his actions from the past twenty-four hours. “Oh, no reason at all except I feel like I might have been stupid last night.”

Hongjoong chuckles as he turns off the stove, obviously not registering how serious the question was meant to be. He pours the hot cocoa into a mug and puts the saucepan in the sink. He has a taste before he hands it to Jongho, who grasps it fully in his icy hands.

“We had a blindfolded lipstick competition. With red lipstick. Which _stains_ ,” he points to a couple of spots on the couch where the faded red ghosts of their competition remain. “To be fair, I think we were all just a big group of idiots last night.” He studies Jongho taking a sip of the hot cocoa. “Or are you referring to something else?”

The drink spreads warmth through Jongho’s body, but Jongho isn’t warm enough to confess quite yet. He sits still and hears the click of someone’s bedroom door opening. He can hear Mingi’s heavy footsteps headed his way and his brain switches to panic mode. He realizes he isn’t ready to meet Mingi just yet. Not while he still has the alcoholic demon still lurking in his veins. He knows Mingi’s room is just as soundproof as his, which means it isn’t at all, so he should have heard his and Hongjoong’s voices, at least. If Mingi is still making his way to the kitchen, then it’s safe to assume that he probably isn’t as frazzled as Jongho is, so he would probably act as normal seeing him. What encompasses normal behavior is something that is slipping Jongho’s mind at the moment, and if Mingi has figured it out, then great. If he learned anything in school, it’s to follow the guy who seems most confident, and between Mingi and Jongho, it seems like there is a clear answer.

Mingi’s groans fill the room, and probably the entire house. “Are you guys feeling as horrible as I am?”

Jongho wants to answer him, but he realizes that he can’t even look at him in the face. His eyes fix onto the hem of Mingi’s shirt where it’s lifted up a tad. He imagines grabbing the shirt and pulling it up some more, and then he bites his cheek to snap out of his drunken delusions.

“I think I’m okay, more or less,” Hongjoong responds. “This one, on the other hand…” he pats Jongho’s head and smiles endearingly. 

Or teasingly. It’s hard to tell.

“Wooyoung’s probably going to be the worst off,” Jongho remarks, unable to look Mingi in the eye, “he drank so much.”

Mingi’s shirt lifts up as he massages his head. “Really? Wooyoung? Did he get really drunk?”

“Yeah, no doubt,” Jongho answers. There’s a slight feeling of dread crawling up his throat when he realizes there is something particularly odd about Mingi being unaware of Wooyoung’s state at the end of the night. There is a very reasonable and probable explanation to it, but Jongho doesn’t want to think it. No, he wants there to be a different reason. Something along the lines of being so into the TV program that he didn’t pay attention to anything else.

Mingi groans even louder. “Man, I don’t really remember anything after losing that lipstick game. I think that punishment shot was over my limit.”

A strong chill goes down Jongho’s spine and his whole body stiffens immediately. He suddenly feels far away from existence, like his soul is sinking to the ground. He grits his teeth to shock his soul back into his body and is able to utter a weak, “Huh?”

“Yeah, I was gone after that shot. Nothing too crazy happened after that though, right?”

Jongho’s hands start to hurt. If he gripped his mug any harder, it would surely shatter, just like his soul does right now. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say, or think, for that matter. There is a heavy secret that he shares with Mingi, but Mingi doesn’t know that secret. Now it makes sense why Mingi was perfectly fine with trotting his ass to the kitchen well-aware that Jongho was there, but now Jongho’s internal crisis has reached a new peak. Now he has to figure out a way to pretend that absolutely nothing happened out of the ordinary and that he doesn’t have any weird drunken habits, like kissing his friends. 

Pretending like everything would be normal is fine and dandy if Jongho weren’t thinking about kissing Mingi right at this very moment. 

Jongho immediately downs the rest of his drink and scurries back to his room, drowning out Hongjoong and Mingi’s voices as he closes the door behind him. He crawls back to bed, curling into a ball so that maybe when he wakes up, he can bounce back to his state of mind before he became an idiot. If worse comes to worst, he could always try banging his head against the wall hard enough to knock himself out and lose a few memories here and there. It could be worth the risk.

He doesn’t dwell on it too long, because while he has a few major problems on his hands, at the number one spot on the list is getting rid of his hangover.

~~

Jongho is an idiot. 

That seems like the recurring theme in his life, particularly these last few days, but how else should he feel when he realizes that Mingi is his best friend and therefore cannot be avoided if everything is supposed to play out like it’s fine and normal? He can’t just use tiredness as an excuse to brush him off because that just means that Jongho can rest in bed while Mingi kicks his feet up on his desk and plays handheld games until he’s better again. But not without bringing with him the ultimate relaxation package, of course.

An array of jasmine-scented candles surround Jongho’s bed. Something about them being a form of healing aromatherapy, supposedly, to help him ease any tension and tiredness. His bedside lamp glows dimly to enhance the relaxing atmosphere. A soft harp playlist plays from his laptop in the background. It almost gives off the feeling of being in a spa save for Mingi’s game being on such a high volume. The explosive sounds and shouts knock the experience down by a star. 

Jongho concentrates on the sound effects of the game, trying to get certain thoughts of a certain someone out of his head, but he’s not in the ideal situation to do that when that certain person is in his field of vision. He gets up and crawls behind Mingi to watch the game very intently, trying not to focus on the goosebumps rising on his skin. He’s beginning to think all of it is a bad idea when Mingi’s small yelps and gasps signal another wave of goosebumps on his skin. His breathing is shallow and he wonders if it’s better not to breathe at all at this point. Besides, if he passes out, any crisis can be averted. Otherwise, it’s really hard keeping himself together when he flinches every time Mingi makes a move. Jongho thinks he can feel the body heat radiating from Mingi’s body, and that’s when he realizes he’s too close. 

He pulls back as quickly as he notices, hoping Mingi doesn’t. He can hear his heartbeat in his throat, but he can’t seem to swallow it down.

Suddenly, Mingi concludes his game with a stretch, turning off his console and setting it aside. He fumbles with the things on Jongho’s desk and picks up a tub of moisturizer. He starts reading the label on the back.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Mingi chimes, jovial like he discovered he’s a genius. 

Whatever he’s thinking, Jongho has a bad feeling about it. Besides that particular moisturizer being expensive beyond reason, he has a feeling that Mingi plans to use it in a way it is absolutely not purposed for.

“I have one, too. Sleeping,” Jongho says as he plops down, drawing up the covers. There is no way he’s going to let Mingi touch him, given the current circumstances of his mental state, and there is no chance in hell he’s going to let Mingi rub anything onto his skin.

“No, really, let me give you a massage! I watched some Youtube tutorials on it. I can try one of those Swedish back massages! They look _so_ relaxing. I promise it’ll be nice!”

Never has Jongho regretted having been so incredibly wrong. Mingi didn’t want to give him a facial. He wanted to slather and rub his pricy moisturizer all over his body. One red flag suddenly becomes one hundred and Jongho thinks he can turn coal into diamonds with the pressure in his neck.

“No,” he responds in a heartbeat. 

“Jongho,” Mingi pleads, clearly wanting to show off the master techniques that Jongho is already all too familiar with.

There is a time and a place for everything, but that time is not now when Jongho is experiencing a sort of extended meltdown, and the place certainly isn’t here, in a candle-lit bedroom that can easily feed his arousal. He has to clench his teeth in order to hide the shiver that runs down his body. He closes his eyes to minimize all levels of interaction, including any sort of dreadful eye-contact. Until he figures out how to keep down the weird images that keep popping into his head recently, namely Mingi shirtless and dripping in sweat, massages are an utter no-go.

“Jongho,” Mingi repeats, more softly this time, begging in its most delicate and deadly form.

Jongho takes a steady breath in. He holds it, counting to six. Then, he releases it slowly. Normally, that kind of thing releases tension, but not today. A massage any other day would be absolutely wonderful, but the sirens going off in his head are loud and he just wants them to stop. He feels hot, and it’s not because of the candles. He tightens his grip on the covers.

“Sorry, I think I’m just going to sleep. Maybe some other time.”

Mingi is quiet for a second, and it scares Jongho. He wonders if his irrational cold shoulder was too much. What can he expect? As long as Mingi is in the dark about what happened that night, he would never know why Jongho was acting this way, but Jongho can’t control his emotions enough to act like a decent person at the moment. At least, not without inducing a weird aching tug in his chest. He wants to apologize, but Mingi does it first. He apologizes for bothering Jongho when he isn’t feeling well and gets up. A plastic bag crinkles as it’s set on the bed. “Eat this if you get hungry. Rest well, Jongho.”

The door shuts.

The candlelight flickers.

Harp music plays in the background.

Jongho bites his lips and his hands work furiously under the covers. 

The scent of jasmine mixes with something else.

The sirens only ring louder.

~~

“You should cut down on your sugar intake, you know,”

At this point, Jongho has added five spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee, and a sixth spoon hovers above his mug. It’s not his usual dose, but such an amount isn’t unheard of for him, either. At his worst, he’s added twelve, but realistically, the sugar content is probably about the same as a typical Starbucks drink.

“I was going to put in a spoon to represent my love for each of you,” Jongho says as he adds the sixth’s spoon, “but I guess I’m not going to be adding your spoonful.”

Seonghwa laughs. “I’m not mad if that’s what it takes for you to be nicer to your body.”

Jongho stirs his coffee. The bottom of it is gritty and viscous, but it smooths out. Stir and done. He only wishes that kind of magic would work on his stress levels. He takes a slow sip, savoring the sweet sugar as it energizes his soul. There’s no magic like syrupy sweet coffee, and he supposes that will do for now.

“So,” Seonghwa starts, as he sits across from Jongho with his tea, “what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Jongho spits out a split second before he chokes, clearly unprepared for the question. By the time he’s coughed his throat raw and finished pounding on his chest is when Seonghwa finally decides to ask if he’s okay, to which he responds, “Wow, you really do care.”

Seonghwa frowns to that, adjusting his posture upright. Give it to Seonghwa to take Jongho’s bitter banter to heart. He’s always been a bit more of the serious type, anyway.

“Of course, I do.”

Jongho waves his hand to indicate that he doesn’t need an explanation. He knows, of course, and he should have known not to be too strong with his sarcasm because sometimes Seonghwa just doesn’t get it. With Seonghwa’s lack of ability to comprehend the subtle art of sarcasm, one would think he was born two generations before Jongho instead of the much smaller gap of two years that he was. He clears his throat to get the last of his shock out of his system.

“Yes, yes, I know, don’t you worry your pretty head.”

He clears his throat again, now regretting his choice of beverage. Some hot tea with a generous drizzle of honey sounds wonderfully soothing for his poor throat. He eyes Seonghwa’s drink, but he knows that Seonghwa would have taken it plain. No sweetener or milk whatsoever. Tasteless, like his sense of humor.

Seonghwa huffs out as he looks away, but his cheeks flush because, as no surprise to anyone in this household, Seonghwa secretly enjoys being complimented. Except he’s the only one who thinks its a secret. It’s not hard to compliment him, partly because yes, he’s quite the looker, but also because it’s cute seeing his flustered reaction that he thinks he hides so well. If only he knew.

“Anyway,” Seonghwa says with his lips tugging upward, “what’s up with you?”

As expected, Jongho can't just avoid a question with this one. He is either going to have to fess up or act dumb, and there’s no way he is going to admit to having dirty thoughts about a housemate.

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently, batting his eyelashes in faux confusion.

Seonghwa squints slightly, folding his hands together and leaning forward in interrogation mode. “I mean that as a general question, but your reaction makes me think there’s something going on. Someone on your mind recently?”

Sometimes, Jongho wishes Seonghwa wasn’t so smart. He sips his coffee in silence, and it doesn’t take a genius to take that as a yes.

“Hmm,” Seonghwa hums as if he understands, making no other comment. It’s a mind game, probably. Seonghwa acts like he knows what’s going on and Jongho delves into the details. Jongho will be caught in the trap as soon as he talks. Or, he can change the subject, but there is no way to do that without proving Seonghwa’s point. Or he can make it awkward and end the conversation there. 

Seonghwa leers in expectation. Option three, it is.

Jongho doesn’t regret not adding Seonghwa’s spoonful of sugar.

~~

Jongho soon learns the true joy of having a forbidden thought plaguing his mind at every waking second of his day. And by joy, he means absolute terror.

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon and San is on the couch, settling his head comfortably on Mingi’s shoulder, arms tightly around his waist. It’s not in a possessive way, but it’s almost boastful. Knowing San, it probably is a little. He snuggles closer when Jongho comes in.

The first thought that invades Jongho’s head when he sees them is that he wants to hold Mingi by the waist, too. Tight. All would be fine if he were modest enough to stop there. He imagines squeezing Mingi’s waist, holding him in a vulnerable position. He imagines sliding his hand down the curve of his waist and around to his back, pressing into the skin. His blood is racing, but what really makes his hair rise is when San interjects his daydream.

“Want to join?” asks San, playfully, throwing his knee over Mingi’s thigh. “Your usual shoulder is free.” He nods toward Mingi’s other shoulder.

There’s a moment that Jongho takes to digest the question and the following statement. He breaks everything down, inspects every part, builds it back up again and thinks about the meaning of the whole. He tries to comprehend the intent of the question because San can be a tricky one sometimes, and it’s clear that he isn’t waiting for an answer, but rather a response. 

This is a test, Jongho realizes. San is watching Jongho’s every move with a sharp gaze. Jongho is careful, not wanting to take a step closer if that’s what will give San satisfaction. He takes a glance at Mingi, who smiles when he meets his eyes. Jongho feels his expression soften a bit, and that’s when San smirks. Jongho unknowingly took the bait, and he stiffens when he finally figures out what this all means.

San knows.

The walls seem to spin when Jongho suddenly remembers an important detail about that night. San had been awake. He was awake and more importantly, he was pretty sober near the end. He must have seen everything, and Jongho’s obvious mental thirst ride just now probably confirmed everything San might have wanted to know about it. Neither of them says anything, but neither has to. San knows, and Jongho knows that he knows, and San knows that Jongho knows that he knows. 

Jongho thinks he finally understands what it means for shit to start snowballing out of control.

If there is ever a hero in his life, it’s Yeosang, who jingles his keys with perfect timing to announce that he’s going to get groceries. Jongho bids San and Mingi an abrupt farewell to accompany him.

If Hongjoong is the glue of their friend group, Yeosang is the structural beam. He’s hard enough to hurt, but at the end of the day, he’s what keeps everyone standing upright. The first person anyone would ever ask for advice is Hongjoong. The first person anyone would ask to give it to them straight is Yeosang. He doesn’t see the point of trifling around when, in the end, there are only so many hours in a day. He’s not one to be afraid of confrontation if it means that any and all complications are sorted out. It seems that as of now, he’s judged Jongho to be a complication, and Jongho wouldn’t disagree.

“What are you hiding?” he asks calmly once they’re on the road. His hand is relaxed on the wheel.

The question catches Jongho a little off-guard, He expected questions, but he expected something in the “why” category. A “what” question nullifies any of the predetermined answers Jongho had been rehearsing in his head until now, so he doesn’t have enough time to filter his thoughts.

“I think I might have a thing for Mingi.”

The car rolls smoothly to a stop at a stop sign, but when it stays stopped, Jongho looks for Yeosang’s reaction. Yeosang has this uncanny ability to react much differently than expected, and he proves it again as he is staring at Jongho blankly.

“You think?”

While he had been more careless about his attitude toward Mingi than he would like to admit, Jongho doesn’t think it had been so bad that it was this obvious. It only makes some sense once he remembers that Yeosang had been awake that night, as well. Maybe Jongho’s secret isn’t as much of a secret as he had thought it was. Still, one would think that Yeosang would be a little more doubtful about it. Maybe a little more curious about it, too.

“Is that supposed to be rhetorical?”

“You _think?_ ”

He can’t be sure if Yeosang is repeating himself or if this is supposed to be another rhetorical question because he surely isn’t asking as a question. Not able to think of an adequate response, he simply says, “There are cars behind you.”

Yeosang starts driving again, just as smoothly as before.

“Why do you think so?”

It’s a milder and more straight forward question, which Jongho is somewhat thankful for. No interrogation at all would be the most comfortable scenario, but he knows that if he doesn’t talk this out with someone soon he’s either going to go crazy or he’ll do something beyond stupid. He would much prefer talking it out than either of the other two options.

“Something happened the night we drank, and ever since then, I can’t stop thinking about it, or about Mingi.” He pauses, but Yeosang doesn’t ask. It’s a smart move because now Jongho is itching to tell. He drops the bomb. “We kissed.”

“Oh really?”

Well, that isn’t exactly the explosive response he expects. He doesn’t know if he should be disappointed or relieved. The implication of his response tells Jongho that Yeosang didn’t see them when it happened and that Yeosang knows something that maybe Jongho doesn’t.

“But Mingi doesn’t remember it.”

The car is parked expertly into the small parking space, and Yeosang shuts off the engine. Neither of them makes a move to leave the car. Yeosang leans his head back. He blinks a few times like he’s trying to make sense of something, then snaps his head toward Jongho. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that you’ve been thinking about Mingi because you two kissed and for no other reason?”

There. That was the confusion that Jongho had been expecting when he first started revealing his internal crisis, but it’s not quite the way he had imagined it.

“Yes?”

Yeosang closes his eyes and rests his fingers on his temple. “Be honest, how do you feel about Mingi?”

Until now, that’s not a thought that Jongho had explored yet, especially since he has been trying to think about Mingi for the least amount of time as possible as a preventative measure for bad choices.

“He’s my best friend,” Jongho says as if it’s a comprehensive answer.

Yeosang is not satisfied with it in the slightest.

“Wrong. You’re in love with him, you idiot.”

There’s a ringing in Jongho’s ear. He thinks something breaks in his brain.

“What? I’m not in love with-”

“Fine, you have a massive crush on him. I don’t care how you word it. The point is, you have some major feelings for the guy, and you’re only starting to realize it because you drunkenly kissed him? If that doesn’t define ‘idiot’ I don’t know what does.”

“I don’t… That’s not… What are you saying?”

Yeosang sighs a little. “Look. You’ve liked him for ages. Every time someone says something funny, you look at him first to see if he’s laughing. When you cook us food, he’s the first person you let try the dish. When we watch a movie, everyone knows that you’ve already called dibs on Mingi’s shoulder even if you don’t say it. And when he’s talking? You get some serious tunnel vision. The way you look at him? If you knew what you look like when you look at him, you would know it, too. It’s not hard to tell. Face it, you like him a lot more than you think you do.”

There are times when Jongho thinks he knows himself enough, but the keyword is ‘think’. It doesn’t take long for those times to be replaced with times he thinks he knows less about himself than the average stranger knows about him. It takes one long zoning-out session for Jongho to realize that maybe Yeosang knows what he’s talking about. When he thinks about it, emotions are a grey area in his book. If he looks back with Yeosang’s point of view, then things start to piece together. It’s easy to give in to the claim when he realizes how easy it is to love Mingi

Yeosang ends it there, but that’s not where it ends for Jongho. 

~~

The monotonous sound of raindrops falling on the rooftop is calming. Of all the unfavorable situations that life had put Jongho through recently, this is a nice change. Especially tonight, when he tells himself that he is going to have a talk with Mingi. Nothing too serious, he just has to sort things out. Maybe give Mingi an explanation for his behavior. 

He knocks on Mingi’s door feebly, tugging at his collar for more breathing room as he waits. Mingi opens the door shortly, and as life’s antics would have it, his thin white shirt is clinging onto his skin, his briefs hugging the firm outline of his thighs, and he is ruffling a towel onto his wet hair. Oh, and the kicker? He smells freshly of magnolia.

“You showered,” Jongho swallows, stating the obvious.

“Um, yeah, I did. Why, was I not supposed to?” Mingi sets the towel on his shoulder and leans against the door frame. 

Jongho thinks he’s going to have a fever.

“Ah, no, I just didn’t know, so, it’s fine, you’re fine, I mean, uh… um, can I come in?”

That went smoothly.

Mingi turns on his heels, nudging the door open as he retreats back into his room. He takes a chair and swivels it around, throws his leg over the seat and leans on the back of it. Jongho follows him in and takes a seat on Mingi’s bed. He grabs a pillow and holds it tight, letting the weight of his head rest on it.

“What’s up?” Mingi asks simply.

It’s at this point where Jongho becomes profoundly aware that while he knows exactly what he wants to say, he has lost all ability to organize his thoughts and form coherent sentences, rendering him an absolute amateur in the spoken language. If he tries to let out any sort of sentence now, there’s no guarantee it will be able to bear any meaning and he will end up babbling like the idiot he’s proven himself to be as of late. He contemplates giving up for tonight and coming back when he has fully prepared and memorized a decently eloquently written speech. But then, he looks at Mingi and sees his pretty shining eyes and wet dripping hair, and suddenly his lungs give out.

“I like you a lot.”

On the bright side, it gets the point across.

“Aw,” Mingi starts with a glowing smile. “I like you a lot, too.”

On the other hand, maybe it doesn’t.

“No, you don’t understand. I like you like I have actual feelings for you and I don’t know what to do about it. I haven’t been able to get you off my mind and it’s driving me insane! When I imagine kissing you again and doing shit to you, it’s game over, I’m out of commission, I’m done for.”

Mingi could very well pass for a jpeg image with how perfectly still he is. It’s an understandable reaction when your best friend decides to spill their hidden desires about you out of nowhere. Too bad but there’s no turning back for Jongho, now.

“I understand if you don’t really want to associate with me anymore, but-”

“Wait,” Mingi says while holding up a palm, “before you move on, what do you mean ‘again’?”

“Oh.”

Right. He had forgotten to mention that small little detail that sparked this massive train wreck, and he realizes that explaining things is more complicated than he signed up for. His brain isn’t greased properly enough for this and it stalls. The small bit of momentum he had is gone. His entire function of thought decides to shut down on him, and coincidentally, following a bright flash of light and an enormous thunder, the power goes out.

The candles give the room both soft light and gentle warmth. As ice-cold as the atmosphere is, it at least gives the illusion of a peaceful night. They give off a lovely aroma of jasmine, but Jongho has to strain himself to think about something else. 

“We kissed on lipstick night?” Mingi echoes.

Without anything else to add, Jongho simply nods.

“Wow, I don’t remember…”

“That much is obvious.”

Mingi concentrates his fingers on his lips as if he’s trying to trigger the lost memory. His brows are furrowed, giving away his lack of success. His lips jut out in their usual pout, and Jongho finds himself focused on them. They’re so pretty that Jongho loses his self-loathing mindset for a moment and finds a more daring version of himself. Maybe it has something to do with the jasmine in the air.

“Do you want me to help you remember?” 

Jongho slowly twists the tube of cherry lipstick, savoring its smooth glide. His eyes flicker up to Mingi’s patient pout and he’s thankful that he’s not wearing a blindfold for this round. His knee buckles slightly, nerves, probably, and Mingi throws his hands onto Jongho’s hips to hold him in place. Maybe the bed isn’t the best place to do this, especially with the same red lipstick that permanently accented some of their other pieces of furniture, but that’s where they’re doing this. 

Jongho holds Mingi’s cheek with one hand, then steadies his dominant hand with a pinky on Mingi’s chin. Slowly, he swipes the lipstick once on Mingi’s lips, then pulls back to admire his work. It’s not complete, but god does Mingi look good in red. He’s almost cooing in compliments over it, but he bites his lips so he can continue. He leans in again, feeling a little hazy at this point, to finish his work, carefully applying inside of the lip line. Mingi parts his lips to give him a better reach, but all it does is create images in Jongho’s head.

“God, you’re so pretty, Mingi. Do you know?”

He lowers his gaze as he takes the lipstick to Mingi’s neck and swipes a haphazard line across his Adam’s apple. He can feel Mingi’s grip tighten on his hips and he lets out a small squeak. He drags his hand down from Mingi’s cheek to his neck, smearing the lipstick with his thumb.  
  


“And you just took a shower, too.”

Mingi chuckles. “I don’t mind. I’m liking this, actually,” he admits in a low voice.

The lipstick on Jongho’s thumb leaves a residue on the collar of Mingi’s white shirt that’s still damp, and there’s something about the overall picture that makes him really want to ruin him a little.

“Can I leave a mark on you?” He pauses in consideration, tasting his words carefully. He watches for Mingi’s reaction. “And I don’t mean with lipstick.”

There’s a spark in Mingi’s eyes that marks something between a revelation and a challenge. It doesn’t take long for his expression to soften to a craving look. It suits him.

“Please do,” Mingi concedes.

Jongho pulls him in by the collar and aims for the side of his neck. His thumb firmly rubs the lipstick stain as he sinks his teeth into the flesh. He nibbles a little, sucks a little, and the mewl that comes out of Mingi is enough to drive Jongho over. He forgets the feeling of patience and he pushes him down. His hand finds its way under Mingi’s shirt and explores up to his waist, pressing the skin, and the residual lipstick on his thumb leaves a faded trail on his abdomen. He dips down and kisses just below Mingi’s belly button which elicits a squirm. He pauses to smirk when he accepts that he is enjoying himself, and then he licks the spot he just came up from. 

He massages the inside of Mingi’s thigh with this thumb, and Mingi’s hips buck up. Mingi grips Jongho’s hair, sighing softly. His sighs sound like the songs of a siren that only serve to drown Jongho into him. Be it magic or a curse, Jongho is hooked.

“Kiss me,” he requests. And when Mingi asks, how can Jongho refuse?

He takes an overview for a moment, with Mingi’s shirt rolled up to his chest, lipstick smears on his clothes and skin, and perfect red lips. Mingi’s eyes start to water ever so slightly as his lips part. He’s truly a work of art that Jongho can only appraise as priceless as he dives in.

He starts light, kissing him tenderly, thoroughly, and when Mingi latches on Jongho’s waist, he kisses him harder. He kisses him for all the years he should have been kissing him before. He kisses him because he deserves to be spoiled with kisses. He kisses him because he’s a downright idiot, but he’s one for Mingi. He kisses him because it feels good and because it feels right. He kisses him because maybe he was a little bit in love. He kisses him because Mingi wants him to, but the biggest reason is because he just wants to kiss the guy. And now, he has no reason not to.

“Mingi,” he breathes out.

Mingi responds with a graceful expletive, followed by Jongho’s name, and something about the combination sends Jongho to a high. He pulls Mingi in by the neck, taking his lower lip in between his teeth. His hands cover as much of Mingi’s skin as they can roam and Mingi assists by taking off his shirt. The freshly showered scent is still there, but it mixes with a little bit of Mingi’s own scent, and the result is terrifyingly addictive. Mingi takes one of Jongho’s hands and interlocks their fingers. A smile tugs at Jongho’s lips as he sighs a song of soft laughter, dizzy with pleasure. He nips at Mingi’s collarbone and again at the side of his neck, Mingi’s gasps sounding sweet to his ears. Each bite leaves a trace of red. They’re a mix of lipstick and kiss marks.

Pretty.

Jongho grinds his hips into Mingi’s, and Mingi groans, pulling him closer. His low growls are heavy, and Jongho just wants as much as he can take. He teases the hem of Mingi’s briefs, slipping his fingers between the elastic and the skin, tugging gently. The briefs come off as Jongho lowers himself, and he has his lips enclosed on the head of Mingi’s dick. He goes down slowly, and Mingi throws his head back, whispering Jongho’s name, again and again, stroking his hair and coaxing him. Jongho thumbs Mingi’s inner thighs, fixing his grip into the skin. Mingi’s breathing becomes more ragged in line with Jongho’s change of pace.

“Coming,” he declares with a moan, letting Jongho pull back before he releases in several spurts over himself. He slumps, melting into his pillow with a smile on his face. 

Jongho grabs the towel from earlier, still damp, and starts delicately wiping Mingi’s stomach. He laughs as he finds the abandoned lipstick in the mess of the sheets, which are thoroughly stained. It looks like they have to get new ones tomorrow.

Mingi pulls Jongho in by the arms, and Jongho gladly tucks himself in tight. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jongho replies softly.

Mingi is a mess. There’s more lipstick on him than anyone would ever have on practically, and his hair has dried into what one might call a bird’s nest, but with a soft glowing smile illuminated by candlelight, he’s undeniably the prettiest thing Jongho has ever laid his eyes on. Jongho knows he’s staring, but now that his feelings are out in the open, what is really there to hide?

“I forgot to mention it, and it might be a little late, but I meant it when I said that I really like you a lot, too. I guess I didn’t really notice but, I might have really liked you from the start.”

There’s a bit of a shock that makes Jongho stiffen momentarily. His agony of the past few days reels back and flashes through his mind, and he considers their time together before the first domino had been knocked over. In hindsight, it’s kind of appalling. Who knew their feelings were mutual from the start? All things considered, Jongho can’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

Jongho shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

It’s nothing that Mingi really needs to know. Mingi doesn’t need to know about the emotional turmoil that Jongho has gone through from his sheer fact that he’s an idiot. And now he’s just discovered that it’s not just him, they’re both idiots. But that’s okay. When it comes down to it, they ended up just fine at their starting line.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading to the end! There were definitely some challenges writing this, but I'm so glad I was able to finish it! I would love to know what you think!
> 
> Thank you again~ ^^


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